


Book of Days

by avianscribe



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Episode Ignis Spoilers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ignis is a seer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-01 19:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/pseuds/avianscribe
Summary: It is Ignis's destiny to See what will happen. It is his curse not to be able to tell anyone about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This experiment was inspired in part by the song ["Book of My Life" by Sting](https://youtu.be/qI8toRERrG0), from his Sacred Love album. The lyrics that begin each chapter come from that song.

It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life  
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife  
\-- _Book of My Life_ **,** lyrics by Gordon Sumner

 

The Scientias have kept the Book of Days for the Astrals, chronicling the years of the Lucis Caelums, for all the long years of their reign and through one hundred thirteen generations. It is a burden Ignis was born to, one he was trained to shoulder from a young age -- for Seeing is hard. And he, young though he is, will become the Chronicler for Noctis Lucis Caelum, Crown Prince of Lucis, the one hundred fourteenth in that proud lineage.

It will be Ignis Scientia's duty to keep the Book of Days for Noctis -- chronicling things that have happened and will happen, for the Sight works both forward and backward, showing both things that have been, and things that are to come.

The king alone knows the role of the Scientias. It is the king’s duty to review the Book of Days and learn from events past, but never, never to seek a knowledge of things to come. In his time, Noctis will bear this secret and burden as well.

But not yet.

Not yet.

Ignis was told once that his uncle, Chronicler for King Regis, Saw the Marilith attack that killed the queen and gravely injured Prince Noctis. He Saw it before it happened, and wrote it in the Book of Days, and then locked himself in his quarters, weeping, until all he had Seen had taken place.

For the Will of the Astrals is absolute, and once written, what is Seen must come to pass. The Astrals would see it so, and strike down the Chronicler who tries to prevent it. Or so Ignis is told.

So Ignis trains himself to forget. And by the time Prince Noctis is of age, he thinks he mostly has it down. He Sees, he records, and then downs an Ebony and pours himself into the chores of the day, willing himself to forget. One day, he knows, his will will be tested.

He hopes it is long in coming.

# # #

There is a promise of peace when the Niflheim Empire offers treaty. The terms will be steep, but Lucis is in no position to bargain. Noctis must resign himself to a marriage of political necessity -- and Ignis hopes he bears it well, as Noct and the Lady Lunafreya have known each other long, and were on friendly terms as children.

These days, Ignis carefully watches what he Sees for some portent of ill. So far, he Sees nothing unusual. But when King Regis sends the Prince and his companions to rendezvous with Lady Lunafreya in anticipation of their wedding, Ignis wonders. What has the King deduced? Ignis would speak with his uncle, to see if he had Seen anything, but knows his uncle would say nothing.

There is nothing to say, if what is Seen must come to pass, wanted or not.

But Ignis worries. For despite all efforts to keep himself aloof -- slave to the duty of his birth -- Ignis cares for Noctis. His uncle has managed to keep his distance from the King -- to be Chronicler without becoming too attached. His uncle has tried to impress on Ignis how important that has been over the years, especially when what he sees is difficult, dangerous, or threatening. But Ignis and Noctis grew up together -- joined later by Gladiolus Amicitia, when his training as Noct's shield and the necessity of Noct's future position brought them together, and even later by Prompto Argentum, Noct's first (and only) school friend. They couldn't help but draw close, all four of them.

And so, as the young Prince is sent out to meet the requirements of the imperial treaty and join his bride, Ignis and his volume of the Book of Days go with him... along with all of Ignis's anxieties.

# # #

Whether they camp or find lodgings, Ignis wakes up early -- not for the reasons Noct thinks, nor for anything like Gladio’s early workouts or Prompto's morning runs. Instead, he finds a quiet place, and pulls the large, leather-bound volume with the yellowing pages from his own personal astral pocket, separate from the Armiger. He takes out the quill pen that draws its ink from his own veins. He removes the specially-crafted lenses from his face, to allow his eyes to truly See… and he writes.

Writing is pain.

Being the King's Knowledge is an honor and a trial, he knows. He may not see the day-to-day trivialities, which is fine by him -- there's plenty he would rather not See -- but the events that turn fate can leave him breathless and weak and he must turn to his kitchen to fill his mind with mundanity before the ink is dry on the page.

Thankfully there have been few of those.

This day starts like many others. They are camped in a winding canyon that will lead them down to the harbor at Galdin Quay, and the sky is only just touched by the beginnings of light. Ignis is the first to rise, as always. And what Ignis Sees this morning is full of the little things -- flashes of their camp, of driving, of sun on the water, of Noct fishing. (Ignis groans a little, but hopes they will get a fine dinner out of it later.)

Then… a flash of an unfamiliar face, and suddenly everything he Sees is cast in shadow.

His brows knot in puzzlement and he taps a finger to his chin, his quill hovering above the paper. That has never happened before. What it can mean, he doesn't know. Is something interfering with his Sight? Or has something happened to influence their course?

A slight noise, a stirring of blankets in the tent, jars him from his pondering. He is losing time. He quickly notes what he Sees -- shadow and all -- and releases quill and book into the ether.

When Gladio emerges from the tent, Ignis is standing over the cooking station, rashers of bacon already sizzling.

# # #

Galdin Quay is everything that had been described to them: beautiful, bright, and promising relaxation -- though Noct is understandably focused more on the ferry to Altissia.

But a gaudily-dressed man greets them before they can enter the restaurant, almost flippantly informing them that the ferry to Altissia would not carry them. Before he finishes his odd speech, he pauses, cocks his head to one side, and squints at Ignis.

“Is your name Scientia, by any chance?”

Ignis scowled. “Who is asking?”

“Oh, no one of consequence. I knew a Scientia once. You remind me of him.”

Ignis eyes him sharply. There are not so many Scientias in the world that a stranger should just casually “know” one.

“Ah, yes. He would look at me just as you are looking at me now. Really, things never change, do they? Well.”

“What Scientia did you know?”

“Oh, no one you would know; it was ages and ages ago, now. He didn't trust me, either.” the man sighs and puts his fedora back on. “Well, I'm sure we'll run into one another again.”

And he leaves them, puzzled, at the mouth of the restaurant.

 


	2. Chapter 2

There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons  
There are pages of conflicts that nobody won  
\-- _Book of My Life_ , lyrics by Gordon Sumner

 

All travel to Altissia is indeed blocked.

  
It is many days before they can finally arrange passage -- days of travel and errands, days of hunts and fishing; days that they fill with memories. Despite Ignis's concerns, his Sight shows him nothing more than the regular trivialities. He begins to relax and actually enjoy himself.

There's something about their travels that sets him at ease. Sometimes he can almost forget the weight of his calling, and Noct's destiny.

# # #

At last they finish their errand for that seedy, blackmailing journalist Dino, and they finally secure passage to Altissia, they spend the evening before their departure in one of Galdin Quay's nicest suites.

Ignis wakes to the morning stillness with something niggling at the back of his mind. It almost feels like he has forgotten something, like leave the teakettle on a hot unit. But that can't be it. He rises, careful not to disturb his companions, and prepares as usual for his day. Once dressed, he seeks the privacy of the ensuite bathroom, and sits on the floor, leaning against the closed door, to pull out the Book of Days and engage his Sight.

It hits him like a club to the head.

He lists sideways and barely catches himself from hitting the floor. He tries to still his gasping breaths. He doesn't want to wake and worry the others, and have to lie. He braces himself in the corner between the door and the wall and Sees.

King Regis, fallen.

The Wall, crumbling.

Insomnia, burning.

Ignis bites the first knuckle of his hand, to stifle the noises he makes. He wants to close his eyes, but the Sight has hold of him now, and he must See.

Then he writes, furiously, fast, everything. The pain of the writing is excruciating. He winces at every line, his breath quick and uneven. Is the ink brighter today than normal? He can't tell, for he is still scribbling across the pages that he can barely see through the tears in his eyes.

He gasps when the pen stops moving. It falls from his fingers and disappears. He releases the Book into the ether as well, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, and weeps.

It is some time before he can compose himself, and he knows, once his tears stop, that he must move quickly, before the others wake. He rinses his face, replaces his glasses, and runs fingers quickly through his hair.

Then he's moving. Silently, swiftly, he leaves the suite. He collects the information he can, in the form of the morning papers. His heart sinks with every headline, and it is the only news to be found: Insomnia has fallen. He makes calls that do not connect, he gathers all the papers he can find copies of, and returns to the room. He pauses outside the door, taking several deep breaths. Then he pushes the door open to deliver the vastly unwelcome, devastating news.

# # #

He watches Noctis mourn that day.

It is worse than anything Ignis has yet Seen -- that raw grief of a son for his father. Of not being able to give the king proper good-byes. Of feeling for the first time that mantle of authority that is his, now -- for he is the King, no matter how ill-prepared he feels for the calling.

But he is a king without coronation. All the news outlets report that Noctis has died, too -- and Lady Lunafreya as well. Then Cor contacts them, and there is hope. Bare, tremulous, but it is a thread to cling to. And Ignis does.

What he does not do is tell Noctis about the Book of Days. That is knowledge that can be kept for another time.

# # #

Thus they begin their quest. Cor gives Noct the key to the tombs of kings, and he will seek for the Royal Arms, his birthright, to aid him in retaking the Crystal. He will seek Lady Lunafreya. It will be a long and arduous quest, covering the breadth and width of Leide, Duscae, and Cleigne all at once.

Ignis Sees more than he likes these days. His Sight shows him every Royal Arm before they find it for Noct's arsenal, and every fight they will undertake to retrieve them. It alerts him before they run into emissaries of Niflheim -- whether Magitek troopers, which dog them every day, or more serious.

The morning of the day Noct faces Titan, Ignis's Sight brings him to his knees again.

He winces as he makes the morning's breakfast, the pain of the writing lingering in his wrists. Still, what he Saw, though momentous, was good. And even though the flashes he saw of Imperial involvement -- and glimpses of the man they encountered outside of Galdin Quay, and subsequent shadow -- give him anxiety, Ignis knows that Noctis will prevail. He feels deep relief.

He wishes he could share with Noctis what he Saw of Lady Lunafreya. That she is going before him, communing with the Astrals on his behalf. But sharing what he Sees is forbidden -- good, or ill. Soon enough, Noctis will find out for himself, and Ignis must be satisfied with that.

# # #

In the end, the Imperial involvement is heavier than Ignis thought -- their aim: to kill Titan as Ignis has heard they did the Glacian. And the strange man from Galdin Quay, they are dismayed to discover, is the Imperial Chancellor, Ardyn Izunia. That alone does not explain to Ignis the shadow that falls over his Sight every time the Chancellor appears in it.

When Chancellor Izunia offers them safe passage from the volcanic hell at the feet of Titan, Ignis takes the opportunity to observe the man closely. The man's behavior tells him nothing, except that he is eccentric -- which Ignis can tell just by looking at him. The entire exercise leaves him just as puzzled as before, with no idea what to do about it.

# # #

The Sight is draining, and keeping his foresight to himself becomes more and more of a challenge. What he sees often leaves him with so many questions, and he would like nothing more than to be able to discuss it with the others -- but he cannot. He begins to hope even more earnestly for Altissia, the wedding, and the kind of stability that peace would bring.

Peace would mean less to See.


	3. Chapter 3

There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess  
If I lose everything that I possess  
\-- _Book of My Life_ , lyrics by Gordon Sumner

 

Altissia is a dream city, and Ignis wishes he was actually here on a vacation he could enjoy.

At least they have time. Their meeting with the Secretary of Accordo is scheduled, and they have a handful of days before negotiations begin. 

The last thing Ignis expects, in the days prior to their summit with the Secretary, is a visit from one Imperial Chancellor Ardyn Izunia. It is not an encounter he Sees (which he later takes to be the portent of more ill than he was prepared for)... and on reflection, he fears he runs into the Chancellor by design.

Ignis is walking the streets of Altissia alone -- everyone else on errands of their own, he is simply enjoying the atmosphere of the town -- when someone passing bumps his elbow and says “My pardon,” in an unmistakable voice.

Ignis turns. “Chancellor Izunia,” he says, his voice courteous but tight. 

The Chancellor tips his hat and bows deeply. “Ah, Mr. Scientia, I presume.”

“Indeed. If you'll excuse me--”

“Ah, no; I was hoping to find you alone.”

Ignis pauses, and looks at the Chancellor with an expression he prays does not betray his annoyance.

The Chancellor merely smirks in response and offers to buy him a coffee at one of the numerous outdoor cafes that line the city's canals. Ignis desires the courage to refuse -- but their relations with Niflheim, and the Chancellor's position, are such that he feels he cannot. Thus he finds himself sitting down to a coffee that the Chancellor has ordered for him -- a coffee that will clearly be far too sweet, based on the amount of cream gracing it. Ignis stirs it but is reluctant to taste.

Instead, he screws up his courage to ask, bluntly, “What do you want?” 

Chancellor Izunia smiles over his own mug. "Oh, just to chat. I think we might have a lot to say to one another."

Ignis resists the urge to snort. "I highly doubt that."

"Oh, give yourself more credit."

"I wasn't thinking of me."

"You should."

Ignis glances up at him, but bites down on his retort.

The Chancellor smiles. "Do drink up. That's their best cup, and I think you're going to need it."

Ignis picks up the mug and sips, and can barely keep himself from grimacing at the cloying sweetness and cream. He wants strong and bitter, especially now.

The Chancellor cocks his head. "Have you ever considered what your life might have been like without the Sight?"

Ignis nearly drops the mug in his lap. He barely manages to set it safely back down on the table with a stiff click. How does the Chancellor know about the Sight? That knowledge is limited to the line of Lucis Caelum. But even more, Ignis hasn't. Has never even considered thinking about what his life would have been without his burden.

“You should give it some thought,” the Chancellor says, leaning toward Ignis and resting his elbows on the table, fingers threaded together, and his chin resting on his knuckles. “You'll avoid a lot of suffering if you give it up.”

Ignis finds his voice at last. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Indeed. Well, consider this… Do the Astrals indeed have at heart the best interest of humanity? Do they honestly care for one life?"

Ignis steels his heart. Somehow, the Chancellor has intelligence on the Scientias. Whatever his motivations, this man is trying to wheedle Ignis into giving up information, and he is determined not to let it happen.

The Chancellor continues: "You don't even have to do anything to give it up. Just... refuse to See. For, say, a week or two. Give yourself a break, man. Have an opportunity to see what it's like. You've been using it since, what, you were age six? Seven? Did they even let you have a childhood before you took on the burden?"

Ignis clenches his teeth. Memories whirl in his head. He started his training after the Marilith, after Noct's injury... but he still remembers mornings in tears, acclimating to the pain of the writing; building his stamina against the drain of the Sight. He stares at Chancellor Izunia and schools his face not to reveal his panic and confusion. _How, how does he know..._

The Chancellor finishes his own mug with long, slow sips. "Well," he says, then, "I will leave you to your thoughts, shall I? Until the appointed time."

"And what time would that be?" Ignis manages in a strangled voice.

"You'll know," Izunia says. "Yes, I do believe you will know."

Then he stands and walks away, leaving Ignis far more than perplexed. 

# # #

It takes a long time for Ignis to recover from his conversation with the Chancellor, so thoroughly discommoded is he. By the time he returns to their suite at the hotel, he is glad to find it empty so that he has time to compose himself. He thinks he has recovered by the time Gladio returns, but there must still be something about his expression, because Gladio immediately asks “Iggy, what's eating you?”

Ignis tries to shrug it off. “It's just nerves about the summit,” he says.

“You were fine this morning. What changed?”

But Ignis can't tell him. He wants to. Oh, the relief at being able to be open. But he cannot. So he just waves a hand. “I'll be fine,” he says.

Gladio is not quite mollified. He makes up for it by wordlessly grabbing Ignis a can of Ebony from the mini fridge, which Ignis gratefully accepts.

By the time Noctis and Prompto get back, he congratulates himself on having calmed himself enough for it not to be noticeable. At least, Noct doesn't say anything... but that could be because he is laughing at some ridiculous thing Prompto is telling him.

# # #

In the morning, when Ignis wakes and rises and finds a private place for using the Sight, he hesitates. Chancellor Izunia's words have opened up too many "what ifs" and now, against his training and better judgement, he is actually entertaining them. Horrified, he shakes his head and removes his glasses and opens his eyes wide to See.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me, trying to remember events, and leaving characters out for efficiency... *eyes Ravus...* Forgive my imperfections; I hope my choices are effective for the overall tone!

There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die  
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry  
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.  
\-- _Book of My Life_ , lyrics by Gordon Sumner

 

 

On the day of the summit, Ignis wakes early as always. They have expended the extra gil for the Royal Suite for one night, in an effort to still Noctis's nerves, and this ensuite has a nice bench in front of a large mirror. Ignis is glad of it, for with the summit and the threat of Imperial involvement, today will be momentous and Ignis expects the Sight to be particularly troublesome. 

He sits with his back to the mirror, grabs the Book and quill, removes his glasses and braces himself.

He is not prepared _enough_.

When he comes to, on his side, his shoulder hurts where it hit the floor and he thinks his temple is bruising. He gasps for breath and shakily sits up.

In his lap, the Book is filled with words he doesn't remember writing. He reads them in horror. 

No.

_NO._

He shoves the Book back into its astral pocket and despite all the alarm bells going off in his head he rushes out of the ensuite. 

"Noct--!"

Something glues his mouth shut. He can't open his mouth. He struggles against it, even lifts a hand as if he can pry his mouth open. He stops when his fingertips brush his lips. 

Noctis blearily sits up in the bed. "Whu...?" 

Ignis says nothing. Can say nothing. 

"Ign's, 's too early," Noct says, and flops back onto the plush pillowcases.

The suite is silent again. 

'THE WILL OF THE ASTRALS IS ABSOLUTE,' rings a voice in Ignis's head -- feminine, and... sorrowful?

'DO NOT TEST US, SCIENTIA,' says another, deeper, and firm. 

He staggers back into the ensuite. He dry-heaves into the toilet -- for how long, he doesn't know -- and then takes an even longer shower. He leans against the wall, fingering the grouting between tiles, letting the water run over him, thinking of as little as he can. 

He does not think about Luna, standing at the Altar of the Tidemother. 

He does not think about Leviathan rising. 

The wreckage of Altissia. 

Noctis, collapsed on stone. 

The flash of a knife in the hands of the Chancellor. 

Himself, burning. 

It is the Royal Suite, so the water never runs cold... and now, he does not know if it is water running down his face, or tears. 

# # # 

A lifetime of training could not have prepared Ignis for what he faces this day. He tries and tries to forget what the Sight showed him, but it is seared into his memory. He watches the summit, participates in all the accommodations they promised the secretary in advance of Luna communing with the Hydrean… Every choice they make that day will lead them only to one horrifying end, and he knows it. 

And he can do. _Nothing_. 

Not that he doesn't try. But every time Ignis opens his mouth with the intent to tell Noctis, his lips snap shut against his will. And every time, the Astrals scold him, with patience growing ever thinner. 

To his shame, his mind turns often to Chancellor Izunia's advice to abandon the Sight. He desperately suppresses his ever-more-fervent wish that he had listened. 

The events play out as he saw. At last, at the end of the interminable horror of the wreck of Altissia and his scrambling search for Noctis, he finds him at the altar -- he and Luna, collapsed together... one alive, the other's life fading. Almost immediately, Ignis finds himself under the power of the Imperial forces. Ignis is pressed to the ground under the feet of MTs, and Ardyn Izunia stands over Noctis, lying prone and vulnerable. Ignis's eyes focus on the Ring of the Lucii, which has rolled toward him out of Noct's limp hand. 

With a last-ditch surge of strength, Ignis throws the MTs off of him and grasps the ring. He holds it, hovering over his finger, as he wars with himself. He knows the cost of wearing the Ring of the Lucii unworthily. He knows it. And yet, this is what he saw. And he knows in his heart, that even having his foreknowledge of events, it would have played out the same... there is no other way to save Noctis. Not now. 

Ardyn eyes him skeptically. "You couldn't take my advice, could you," he says. 

"It would have ended the same," Ignis says. "The will of the Astrals is absolute." 

Ardyn's lip curls in a sneer. "They would like you to think so," he said. 

"I have always been a servant of the Astrals," Ignis says. "My will, my desires... are nothing to them. Yet I swore to stand by Noct and watch over him. And now... whatever it takes, I will protect him!" 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ardyn says. 

Ignis glares at him. "Kings of Lucis, lend me your strength..." he whispers. Then he jams the Ring onto his finger. 

The pain is immediate. Burning, all-consuming. He thinks he's screaming. 

“YOU COULD NOT LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE, SCIENTIA,” booms a voice of the Astrals, heavy and annoyed. 

The altar, the stones, Altissia have disappeared. In the grey, he is surrounded instead by the Kings of Lucis. 

His hand is burning. 

“We sense the desire in your heart to protect the Chosen King.” 

“I… only wish to… protect him.” Ignis says. His breath hisses through his teeth. The fire is climbing his arm now. He grips his wrist with his other hand and gasps. 

“Your desire is pure and unwavering. We will grant you our power, but it comes at a price.” 

“Anything. Anything.” The flame engulfs his shoulder. 

“The Astrals demand what we take. There will be no more Chronicler for the line of Lucis; what happens now will go unSeen.”

Ignis’s breath catches. “But I…" 

“The price must be paid for the power to be given. If the price is not paid, then the line of Lucis ends here and the Chosen King cannot fulfill his calling.” 

“No…!” The smoldering under his skin has reached his neck. 

“Accept our gift and pay the Astrals’ price to save the Chosen King.” The combined voice of kings almost sounds as though it is pleading. 

“I…” The fire is licking at his chin now. He can barely think for the pain of it. But the kings must have their answer. 

He will not See again. Whatever comes for Noct will come without Ignis knowing. 

Without him dreading. 

Without him being utterly unable to say anything, denied by the thrice-blasted Astrals from doing anything with the Knowledge he is given. 

“Yes, gods, yes,” he gasps, flooded with relief. 

Fire erupts behind his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Though the pages are numbered  
I can't see where they lead  
For the end is a mystery no-one can read  
\-- _Book of My Life_ , lyrics by Gordon Sumner

  
The pain is unbelievable. Ignis knows he's screaming, but can't hear himself above the rushing sound of fire.

Above it all he hears “IT IS DONE, SCIENTIA.”

And below that, the Lucii: “Save the Chosen King.”

He crouches around his burning hand and holds his other hand to his burning face. Then, whether the pain fades or he grows accustomed to it, he can't say -- but he straightens.

The grey around him slowly dissolves into the ruins of Altissia. Everything is tinged with color like he's looking through a pinkish-purple filter. But he doesn't have time to think about that, because in front of him stands Ardyn Izunia and a host of Magitek troopers, standing between him and Prince Noctis.

He feels within him the surge of the powers of the Lucii and grimly steps forward to face them. Ardyn's laughter claws at him. He summons his daggers to end it.

# # #

Ignis barely remembers fighting Ardyn.

He remembers the exhillaration of the power of the Ring. He remembers Ardyn's mocking face, and the voices of the Lucii murmuring about duty and the Chosen King.  But mostly he remembers echoes of burning pain, and when the power of the Ring drains from him, taking his strength with it, he knows that it isn't enough. Ardyn mocks him until the end, and as the fire of the Ring's power fades, says "I think that's enough for one day," and simply walks away. Ignis is unable to stop him.

At least he kept him from Noct.

Ignis's vision greys at the edges and then fades altogether. He stumbles forward a few steps before collapsing to the stone. Ardyn is gone. Noct is here, somewhere, but Ignis can't remember where everything is in relationship to where he is now. He rolls onto his back. He feels the hard stone beneath him and the rain pattering on his face.

“Noct…” he says, expecting no answer, and getting none.

Ignis has no sense of time between when he collapses and when he finally hears someone call his name. Ignis is only barely conscious enough to feel a large hand on him -- to feel muscular arms beneath his knees and shoulders. Then there's a feeling of vertigo as he's lifted. He's being carried... and the rocking motion of steps lulls him into oblivion.

# # #

Ignis wakes to darkness. He opens his eyes, and it is still dark.

His face hurts. His whole body hurts, but his eyes hurt the most. He shifts in his bed, but when he tries to push himself up, his arms shake and fail him. His breath hisses through his teeth.

He hears a shuffling nearby. "Ignis," says Prompto's voice, gentle and low. And then there is a hand on his shoulder. "Can I help you sit up?"

Ignis blinks, trying to clear his eyes... but it does nothing to help. Of course. "Y-yes, please," he says.

And then there is an arm behind his shoulders, lifting him. There's a rustling of fabric, shifting, the hollow sound of plumping pillows, and then he is lowered against a soft backrest. A warm mug is pressed into his hand -- broth, he discovers, when he lifts it to his lips to taste. Prompto takes one of his hands and presses some pills into it -- "Pain medicine," Prompto says -- and Ignis swallows them with some of the broth.

Prompto's hand on his shoulder is a lifeline -- a reminder that there is a world around him. "How are you feeling?" Prompto asks.

Ignis considers lying. When he opens his mouth, he says "Unwell."

Prompto's laugh is hesitant -- like he's not sure he should be laughing now -- and refreshing. It reminds Ignis of what "normal" should be.

"How... is Noct?"

Prompto pauses. "He hasn't woken up yet, but he's not hurt. That we can see."

Ignis exhales. At least... at least he was able to protect him.

Ignis finishes his broth, and the empty mug is taken from his hands. Then Prompto excuses himself to let Gladio know that Ignis is awake.

Ignis listens to Prompto's footsteps fade away and sighs. He leans his head back until it meets the wall. He has no idea what time it is. Is it a new day? He feels a small rush of panic -- he _always_ uses the Sight in the morning -- but tamps it down. He no longer has that duty anymore. He may no longer have any duty at all.

He has no idea where he is, aside from a bed -- though from the smell of the room and the feel of the sheets and blanket, it's the Royal Suite, probably the bed he stayed in the night before. Ignis imagines that Noctis is in the master bed of the suite, situated in its own large, ornate room.

A room that Ignis will no longer be able to see.

He didn't realize, when the Astrals said they would take the Sight from him, what else it would cost. They have taken his purpose -- his role as the King's Knowledge -- and now they've taken even more than that. What kind of assistance can he give Noct _now_?

Tears prick his eyes, then, and burn down his seared cheeks. He wipes them away with one hand. He is useless now. Useless in a fight, useless as a chef, useless as a driver... useless as a seer.

Prompto's staccatto footsteps return, with Gladio's heavier thumping -- coming at a quick walk. The door is pushed open with some force. Gladio crosses the room in a heartbeat. Then a broad hand is on Ignis's shoulder. "Iggy," Gladio breathes, then says nothing. His grip on Ignis's shoulder is almost painful. Ignis hears a thick sniffling. Is Gladio... crying?

The surprise is enough to knock Ignis out of his self-pity.

Ignis has usually stayed aloof -- the pressures of the Sight, and the inability to share it with his companions, meant that he kept himself at a distance. He couldn't tell them the things that troubled him, and he didn't want that to worry them. But now...

Now...

Now he can be open. Nothing is preventing it. Now he can lean on them like he hasn't before.

Ignis puts his own hand over Gladio's and squeezes. "I... I'm alright."

He hears soft exhale. "We thought we would lose you," Gladio said.

Ignis's eyes prickle. He purses his lips, determined not to weep. "You can't lose me so easily," he says.

# # #

Gladio retires to Noct's room for the night. The prince shouldn't wake alone. Prompto gets Ignis more to eat -- broth, for now, with the promise of better food in the morning -- and then helps him lay down again properly. Ignis hears the creak of the other bed in the room, and settles back into his own pillows, overcome quickly by weariness.

He wakes to stillness.

He can hear Prompto's even breathing. He smells the fresh coolness that he associates with morning. He hopes he's reading it right.

He sits up. He thinks about the Ring, and the price of its power. He thinks about the Scientias and their generations of submission to the will of the Astrals. He tries to summon the Book of Days. And finds that... he can't. He reaches tentatively for his astral pocket -- and then more firmly. And it is simply not there. He lays back on his pillows, closes his eyes, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reblog writing stuff on tumblr @avianscribe!


End file.
